That's the Past
by xSoulfirexCrookshanksx
Summary: He was always the one teased, picked on and pushed around. And now, he wants revenge. Please review.


**A/N So, I came up with this and thought I'd share. Please review, as I love feedback. :)**

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It was the year 1942. Nighttime had fallen, thick and hazy, over the silence of Hogwarts' grounds. Every window in the castle was dark. Except one; a solitary flame, orange and faint, flickered within a window in the south tower. In that room was a boy huddled over a desk that was scattered with parchment. He was scribbling furiously on one sheet, trying desperately to finish the assignment before midnight. As he finally sat up, his back aching from being hunched over so long, the midnight bell rang and he sighed. Glancing up at the significantly shorter candlestick on his desk, he tiredly pushed his dark hair from his face and stood, stretching his arms high above his head. With a yawn, he began gathering his papers into a pile, hoping his assignment would be laudable enough to pass his grade.

He carefully placed his neatly stacked papers in his schoolbag for the next day. This time, he would turn them in. His grade, usually above average, had declined to an exceptional. It had been happening more often that year. His essays were getting shorter, his handwriting getting sloppier, and his grades were taking a massive downfall. What was happening to him? Why couldn't he focus? He snorted; he knew why. It was because of his profound innovative awareness of something one of his professors told him a month ago. His mind had been whirling, his thoughts turning, ever since then. He took great care to keep the information; he couldn't risk losing it. He hoped it would remain rooted in his mind continually. He wasn't sure exactly what he was going to do with that knowledge, but he knew it would assist him greatly in his plans.

It was almost summer, and he would soon be returning to that awful place until the start of next school year. He shuddered at the thought. He was relieved that he had been told of this place and was accepted here. But if he was going to stay, he needed to improve his grades, and above all his attitude. He was in his sixth year, but he had already been warned of the consequences if he didn't straighten up before next year. He was aggressive, to say the least. He turned on other students from the slightest provocation and teachers often had to prevent fights in the middle of class. Though he was well known in the school, it was not in a good way. His schoolmates avoided him at all costs, and even teachers were cautious with what they said to him. He was, as everyone in the school said, dangerous. That is, everyone except for Professor Dumbledore.

Dumbledore was the only one who wasn't cautious around him. Whenever he passed him in the hall, the pleasant professor always smiled at him or greeted him in some way. It was infuriating. Dumbledore was infuriating. Life, in general, was infuriating. As the boy finished straightening the room, he collapsed on a four poster in the corner and lay there, watching the flickering light of the candle, for well over an hour. He thought about his life, and how much it had changed over the years since coming here. When he first arrived, he was mocked and laughed at. He was always the one picked on, teased and pushed around. Now, no one was laughing. If they did, they soon regretted it. He hated everyone, and everyone hated him. Who needed friends, when he could have influence, power and, above all, fear from everyone around them? When he could walk through the halls, and have everyone cringe at the sight of him?

He would be the most powerful wizard in the world.

Just the thought of that made him tremble with anticipation and he sat up swiftly in his bed. He knew what he was going to do. It wouldn't be easy, but he knew he could do it, eventually. He could use his newfound knowledge to make himself invincible. He would have no limitations to hold him back or rules to restrain him. But, if he was going to do this, he needed a few things. The first was an object he could use. As he glanced around the room, his eyes fell on the ideal item: an old diary he had received years ago, but had never found time to use. The next thing he needed wasn't so easy to obtain: a victim.

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**A/N A review or two?**


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